


"You Have 105 Saved Messages"

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: In a panic about what to do with his newfound responsibility on the team, Kindaichi makes a desperate call to his old senpai. However, he doesn't realize that his daily updates about his life could change things for both of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machuba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/machuba/gifts).



> This is a gift for the HQ Rarepair Exchange 2017. I've never written IwaKin before, but I'm glad your prompt inspired me to surpass the 1.5k I had originally planned for this because god do I love them.

_Good luck on your first day, dude._  
_I know you can do it._  
_Say hi to the guys for me._

Kindaichi stares at the short string of texts from his old senpai, the recently graduated Iwaizumi Hajime, and gulps. The locker next to his in the clubroom, which used to house Iwaizumi’s not-washed-often-enough jersey, is now home to a faceless first year who hasn’t signed up for the club yet. One who will undoubtedly rely on him for pointers like Kindaichi had done the previous school year with Iwaizumi.

He can deal with helping first years; after all, it’s not like he didn’t do that at Kitagawa Daiichi, especially when it came to their fire-breathing dragon of a setter. What strikes him as he stares at the empty slot where someone else’s name will eventually go is that this room is so _quiet_ now. Sure, there is the clamor of Yahaba and Kyoutani sniping at each other, as well as a few of his teammates discussing games and girls and griping about having homework already. The silence, he finds, is that voice over his shoulder that always knows what to say and when Kindaichi needs to hear it.

Iwaizumi’s voice.

Rushing to get changed for morning practice, Kindaichi leaves the clubroom to head for the gym, drowning his errant thoughts in a flurry of net posts and ball carts until the court is almost set up before the next one of his teammates even arrives.

“Relax, Kindaichi,” Yahaba says as he walks by, slapping his kouhai on the shoulder. “Get used to letting first years do this kind of stuff and save some for everyone else.”

“I —” Unsure how to answer, Kindaichi shrugs and finishes stringing the net to the pole and drawing it taut. He gives it a strum and, happy with the tension, walks off to fetch the last ball hopper. Yahaba stares after him, but he’s not in the mood for Yahaba’s brand of jokes right now. What he really wants is to sweat out this weird hollow place in his chest until it’s time to drown himself in academia for the rest of the day.

He knows his teammates sense his sour mood, because no one broaches Kindaichi until he’s already changed back into his school uniform and sliding his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re being weird today,” says Kunimi as he lingers on the bench, only having toed off his kneepads while the rest of their teammates are already heading for the showers. “Can I borrow a few hundred yen? I don’t have change for the drink machine.”

Grumbling even as he rifles through his pockets for a handful of coins, Kindaichi mumbles, “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, sure.” Kunimi slides the money into the pockets of his school trousers and blows a stray strand of hair out of his face. “I miss them too, you know.”

Kindaichi bangs his knee into the bench in surprise. “What? How did you —”

Kunimi quirks a brow. “Really? Literally everybody knows your man-crush on Iwaizumi-san is bigger than Oikawa-san’s ego around girls.”

There is a snorting laugh from behind Kindaichi that he knows belongs to Yahaba, and he reminds himself that his captain is his friend and so is Kunimi. He’s sure they mean well, even if their particular brand of needling is rubbing him wrong already and the day has barely begun. Normally, he would have longed to gush about the small handful of texts that have already thrown his day off-kilter, but he would rather not add fuel to that particular fire until there are enough first years around to commandeer his teammates’ wandering attention. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Suit yourself,” Kunimi says as he peels off the rest of his practice gear. “See you at lunch.”

“Yeah.” Kindaichi ducks out of the clubroom and heads for his first class, even though he’s twenty minutes early. He spends the time reading the first chapter of this year’s trigonometry textbook a few times, hoping some of it will stick.

It does not, and neither does anything else that he tries to cram into his brain on his first day of second year.

Beyond tired mentally and a little bit physically, Kindaichi drags himself to afternoon practice to meet some of the new faces hoping to earn a spot on the starting roster. A few of them he remembers from Kitagawa Daiichi, their names just out of recollection range, but they all know him right away. “Kindaichi-senpai!” one of them clamors as he runs up and bows. “I’m happy to be on the court with you again.”

Finally placing the name, Kindaichi reddens at the display of respect and sputters, “N-nice to see you, too, Owada. Still a middle blocker?”

Owada nods and beams. “Yahaba-san said there’s an open middle blocker starting spot, and I’m gonna go for it.”

“Yahaba-san’s a good setter, so it’ll be fun to work with him.” A shudder passes through Owada, and Kindaichi understands its source immediately. “We have a practice match against Karasuno in a month, so if you want to beat him, work hard to make the roster.”

Standing stiff as a board, Owada’s sunny disposition momentarily darkens before he bobs his head and runs off to help set up the nets with the rest of his batch. A few more of his Kitaichi kouhai come and greet him, but Kindaichi limits them to a few words of encouragement before sending them on their way. By the end of practice, his energy is drained in every conceivable way and he dreads the thirty minute walk home and wonders if taking the bus, which takes ten minutes longer than walking due to the route schedule, might be a better idea, after all.

But he walks, and once he’s outside the school gates, Kindaichi pulls out his phone and selects the third speed dial. After a few rings, the line springs to life and a cool, “Hey, what’s up?” greets him.

 _What’s up_ , Kindaichi muses as he dissects the phrase. As in ‘you would only be calling me if something is wrong so what is it?’, rather than a greeting reserved for a friend who calls just because. “Damn it,” he sighs. “Sorry, Iwaizumi-san. I shouldn’t bother you.”

“That sounds ominous,” Iwaizumi replies. “And you can call me anytime. I might not pick up if I’m in class, but I’ll always call or text you back. Don’t worry about whether you’re bothering me, because I promise you’re not.”

Kindaichi’s eyes bulge at this statement, and he nearly walks into a streetlamp in his surprise. “I-Iwaizumi-san! You don’t have to do that for me. It’s way too much.”

Chuckling, Iwaizumi answers, “Yeah, I probably don’t, but you’re my favorite kouhai, so why the hell not.”

Glad Iwaizumi can’t see his burning red cheeks through the phone, Kindaichi squeaks out a weak, “Th-thanks.”

“Now how ‘bout you tell me what’s bothering you?”

Pausing mid-stride to lean against a bus bench, Kindaichi groans. “Everything feels weird now. How am I supposed to be a good senpai when all I want is my senpai back to tell _me_ what to do?”

“I see.” Iwaizumi sighs heavily, and Kindaichi hears shuffling that sounds like books being put away. “I have an idea.”

Kindaichi wants badly to beg off, to say he doesn’t need the extra help to deal with his new role as senpai and his increased offensive workload, but he can’t. The protestation doesn’t even make it past his throat before Iwaizumi continues.

“How about you call me every day and leave me a voicemail,” he says, and Kindaichi nearly tips off of his perch. “Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll listen. If at any point I think you either can’t or aren’t able to deal with it, I’ll call you back and do whatever I can to help. That sound okay to you?”

“I . . .” Kindaichi’s fingers clench around the phone to keep them from shaking, and his eyes sting from tears he’s not even sure why he’s trying to stifle. “You would do that for me?”

“Yeah, I would.” The smile in Iwaizumi’s voice warms away the leaden lump that has been curdling in Kindaichi’s stomach all day. “You’re a good guy, Kindaichi. And this way, I can keep up with the team because, well —” Iwaizumi chuckles. “I miss you guys a lot. You’re like brothers to me.”

Kindaichi’s sniffle is loud and obvious, but he can’t begin to care as he realizes what this means: his senpai is not completely gone, after all, and he’s still looking out for his kouhai. Especially Kindaichi. “I’d like that,” Kindaichi manages, a wobbling smile earning him an odd look from a woman passing by with a baby stroller. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good.” Kindaichi hears what he thinks is stretching, his mind already conjuring up an image to go along with it as he recalls the way Iwaizumi’s t-shirt would ride up his torso and Oikawa would pinch his sides, usually earning him a headlock or tongue-lashing. Already, his day feels more normal than it has since he woke up, and he’s more glad than ever that he made this call.

“Thanks, Iwaizumi-san. I’ll leave you to your homework, and I’ll call again tomorrow.” Kindaichi is smiling as he ends the call, and the rest of his walk home is much less laborious.

Every day, even when there is no school or no practice, Kindaichi leaves his short message for Iwaizumi. Most of them are the same — the ichinen are clueless, Kyoutani is pissing Yahaba off all the time, Kunimi ate my lunch — and there was never an answer to those, nor was one expected. His first reply comes a month after he had started calling Iwaizumi daily, and even Kindaichi can’t complain about the apt timing.

“Yeah, we had a practice match against Karasuno today and got our asses handed to us,” Kindaichi said, knowing his voice is ripe with the most pathetic brand of demoralization known to man but unable to hide it. “It was my first match since Mizoguchi-san moved me to wing spiker, and god, I —” His whole body shuddering in revulsion at the memory, he finished, “I’m such a fuck-up, Iwaizumi-san. I can’t do this.”

Less than five minutes goes by after his stammered message before Kindaichi’s phone blares to life. “Hey,” he answers weakly, unable to muster up his usual enthusiasm for talking to the person who has rapidly become his source of sanity.

“Dude, you’re not a fuck-up, so just put that out of your head right now.” Iwaizumi’s tone is stern, reminiscent of the many time he had scolded Kyoutani’s errant behaviour, and it makes Kindaichi shrink into himself. “So tell me what happened.”

Quietly, Kindaichi talks about the calamitous three sets he had played on the left side against Karasuno before Irihata-sensei had switched him out for a trembling first year, so in awe of the Karasuno quick strike that he didn’t fare much better. Talks about razor sharp blue eyes on him the entire time, even while on the sidelines, watching his meltdown from start to finish. He doesn’t leave out the part where he stormed back into the club room between sets and kicked over a bench, barely feeling the pain in the toe he isn’t even sure he hadn’t broken.

“Whoa.” Iwaizumi is quiet as he absorbs it all, but after the second minute of dead silence, Kindaichi almost asks him to speak before Iwaizumi beats him to it. “Did Coach tell you why he moved you to the wing?”

Kindaichi blinks, not sure what Iwaizumi is hinting at, but he answers, “Not really. He just said he needs me there and not in the middle. I’ve never played anything but middle blocker, so I don’t really get why he’d say that.”

He doesn’t expect Iwaizumi to laugh.

“Wow, you really don’t get it?” At Kindaichi’s long silence, he explains, “It’s because they want you to be the next ace, Kindaichi. It means they’re counting on you to be the best player on the court next year, and they’re giving you a chance to get started on it.”

Mouth agape, Kindaichi can’t find the words to explain his trepidation at that thought. Iwaizumi can’t see his unstable hands or the bullets of sweat sprouting on his temples.

How can they expect _him_ to be the ace? On what planet can weedy, nervous Kindaichi Yuutarou pull on the Number Four and step out onto the court with that bullseye on his shirt, marking him as the player everyone has to block at all costs? Or worse —

“Oh, crap, what if they make me captain?” Kindaichi’s voice is barely more than a weak whine. He groans and throws his head back. “How am I supposed to be that guy, Iwaizumi-san? I can spike and block and my serves are getting better, but how do I do all of that _and_ be, well . . . _you_?”

“You’re not gonna be me, Kindaichi. Not ever.” Something cold clenches inside of Kindaichi’s chest before he hears that quiet, “Be better.”

“But Iwaizumi-san, you —”

“Before you say something that’s going to make us both embarrassed, hear me out.” Iwaizumi huffs. “I bailed on being captain.”

Kindaichi, who has barely slipped through the doorway to his apartment, nearly tips over while toeing off his shoes. “What?”

Iwaizumi’s voice wavers in a way Kindaichi has never heard before. “The coaches asked me to be the captain in our third year, but I didn’t think I could do as good a job as Oikawa, so I said no, giving them some bullshit lie about cram school keeping me from doing the extra stuff  like arranging trips and crap like that.

“But it was really because I didn’t think I could do all of it. Pulling the strings was Oikawa’s job, not mine, so I said I could be vice-captain, but I wouldn’t take the big job, knowing Oikawa would get it instead.” Kindaichi wants to say something, anything, to take away the regret ripe in Iwaizumi’s confession, but he has nothing to offer but silence.

“Weird thing happened, though,” Iwaizumi continued, confidence slowly filtering back into his words. “Oikawa was being his normal moron self and got hurt overworking himself, so I had to do it anyway. From that moment, I really had to think about everything I did and said, and I learned more in that crap-ass game we played against Karasuno than I ever thought I could.”

“How is this supposed to make me feel better?” Kindaichi squeaks, leaning against the wall to support his liquid knees, unable to bear the weight of this confession. “Why did you tell me all this?”

“C’mon, Kindaichi. If you wanted to be dramatic, you should’ve called Oikawa. I’m just being straight with you.” The other side of the line shuffles, and Kindaichi hears the telltale change of tone that he’s being taken off of speakerphone. A door clicks shut, and Kindaichi finds himself leaning in as if being let in on yet another big secret.

“I’m telling you this because I thought I didn’t have what it took to be the guy the team needed, and I was wrong. I didn’t even try, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Oikawa was a great captain and I’d follow him to hell and back and never flinch, but I’ll never stop thinking about how well we might have done if our best player hadn’t been bogged down by that extra burden. If he could’ve skipped one extra practice and not hurt his knee. If he could’ve focused on his serve or his sets and got us that one extra point that could’ve sent _us_ to nationals.

“But instead, he had to do more than any of us, and I haven’t even had the balls to tell him any of this because he’s my best friend and I hate the idea of him thinking less of me.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Iwaizumi says, “So yeah, it’s hard to be the ace and the captain, but if you don’t go out there and do your best, you’ll hate yourself for it.”

Kindaichi gulps and manages a shaky, “I’ll remember.” He quietly listens for Iwaizumi’s ragged breathing to slow and even before he says, “I’m still nervous. What if I suck? What if I’m the worst ace in Seijou history?”

Iwaizumi chortled. “If you knew the jackass who was the ace when I was in first year, you wouldn’t think that. If you don’t believe me, as Oikawa. That moron had Oikawa running so many laps for pointing out obvious flaws in our game strategy that he barely touched the ball in our first week on the team. You’re way smarter and better than that guy, so I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”

“Th-thanks, Iwaizumi-san. That means a lot.” Kindaichi blushes at the empty room as he drops down on the couch. “Thanks for calling.”

“Sorry I dumped all that on you, man, and I’m probably not half as cool as you thought I was an hour ago, but you need to know that you set your own limits. Kageyama’s the kind of guy who doesn’t set limits for himself, and it’s why he finally surpassed Oikawa. It doesn’t take a genius to be the best, just the attitude that you don’t need to be one.”

“I’ll remember,” Kindaichi says, still agog at this fountain of encouragement, but a new resolve begins to settle in as he thinks of the probable aces next school year for the area’s top clubs, and there isn’t a single one that Kindaichi hasn’t stuffed as a blocker or hit a ball past. “Wow.”

They say their farewells, and Kindaichi drifts through his homework in a stupor, the equations and conjugations feeling less real than the sensation coursing through his veins.

 _Anticipation_.

 

The following weeks show a change in the mood of Kindaichi’s daily messages. He talks about Kunimi taking over the middle and getting yelled at by Mizoguchi for being the ‘worst middle blocker ever’, about Yahaba pulling him aside and confirming what Iwaizumi had said about him being groomed to be the next ace.

Some of them are about schoolwork and Kindaichi’s eternal struggle with numbers, while Kunimi barely does his assignments and still manages near perfect marks. Slowly but surely, however, the idea of being the center of the team in the next year weighs on Kindaichi less and less as his complaints about his days turn more trivial each time.

He calls daily all the way through the Interhigh tournament, tearful over Seijou’s Top 4 exit, this time defeated by a surging Datekou, who had even upset Shiratorizawa in the previous round. The Iron Wall had neutralized Kindaichi’s budding wing spiker skills and kept him to less than ten kills in three sets. Kyoutani had fared slightly better, but not much.

The words spill out of Kindaichi’s mouth, but they taste bitter with every passing syllable and he hates it. They lost because they’re not good enough from top to bottom. But even as he thinks this, his thoughts wind back to the one time Iwaizumi had answered his message, talking about limits, and it has never felt more relevant.

Yahaba had played out of his mind, with five service aces, three perfectly-timed dump shots, and a few spikes of his own. Kindaichi can scarcely believe that the almost monstrous presence on the court has been his friend and gossip partner for over a year. He had been a different man, and Kindaichi doesn’t have to wonder anymore about what kind of player Iwaizumi believes, _expects_ him to be.

“None of them are retiring, though. Yahaba-san says he has unfinished business, and Kyoutani-san just kind of growled and said he’s be at practice tomorrow.” Kindaichi rubs his red eyes, wincing as sweat burns them. “It’s the best I’ve ever seen them play. I think I know what you mean now about limits.”

There isn’t a call, but he is forwarded a picture of another former senpai, Matsukawa, taking in the game with Seijou’s cheer squad.

 _I heard,_ came the next text. _He says Kunimi’s doing well at middle, too._

 _I think it works for him_ , Kindaichi replies. _We’ll need him next year. Him and Owada are smart blockers._

_You all right?_

Kindaichi’s fingers fumble as they try to reply, to tell Iwaizumi that he’s sad and tired and he hates to lose, but instead they hammer out a bland, _Yeah._

It’s a few weeks later that Kindaichi forgets to make his daily call, and a couple more after that when he stops altogether. What begins as a simple slip of the mind turns into guilt for wasting a busy college guy’s time with stupid high school problems, so he stops lingering outside the gates after practice just out of earshot to lance the wounds that are no longer there. He’s slipping into his role as a wing spiker, he’s more and more comfortable directing the first years, and Watari assures him that his receiving skills are better than the beginning of the year by a huge margin.

Months later, he never expects Iwaizumi to call him anyway.

Slipping his phone out of his hoodie pocket, Kindaichi ducks into a building alcove to shield himself from the chilly November winds. “Iwaizumi-san?”

“Hope I’m not bothering you. I just —”

Kindaichi hears a shivering breath on the other end of the line that sounds suspiciously like someone who is about to lose their composure. His eyes widen as he listens on.

“Why did I come here?”

Heart beginning to ache from the longing in Iwaizumi’s voice, Kindaichi sits on the pavement despite the cold and hugs his knees as he spouts out a ridiculous question despite knowing the obvious answer. “Are you okay?”

He hears Iwaizumi struggle to meter his breathing to calm himself, the rusty sound of tears come and gone evident in the timbre. Kindaichi stares out into the street, unsure what to say or what to do.

Iwaizumi Hajime has always been the pinnacle of strength and composure in his eyes. Ever since he was twelve years old, Kindaichi has looked to his senpai, first at Kitagawa Daiichi and then at Aobajousai, for guidance, for volleyball excellence and a host of other things. He had been the strongest, the fastest, the bravest, on top of being an excellent student. All the girls at school had nursed a crush on him and most of the guys wished they could be like him.

Kindaichi has to admit that he had fallen into both camps in that respect, idolizing Iwaizumi in both an athletic sense and a way that might not be strictly platonic. Time and distance might have dissolved the latter somewhat, but the former is still a heavy factor in how he sees Iwaizumi — almost a presence more than a person.

But said presence is either a moment away from crying or is already cried out, and he’s looking to Kindaichi for words of wisdom he’s sure he doesn’t have about a situation he can’t begin to understand.

“I just needed to hear a friendly voice,” Iwaizumi chokes. “I miss listening to your messages.”

“I thought I was just getting annoying,” Kindaichi admits. “You have better things to do than hear me gripe about homework or Kunimi stealing my sandwich at lunch.”

Iwaizumi lets out a humorless bark of laughter. “What would you say if I told you it was one of the few things keeping me from going crazy over here?”

Bolting to his feet, Kindaichi paces on the sidewalk as he processes the idea that Iwaizumi needed _him_ and not just the other way around. Well, what is certain is that Iwaizumi needs him now and after all his senpai has done for him, Kindaichi isn’t about to let him down.

“I — I would say that you could tell me about it, and I promise never to tell Oikawa-san, because if you wanted him to know you would’ve told him all this already.”

Letting out a garbled laugh, Iwaizumi answers, “It’s nice to see at least one of us has our shit together. I see why you don’t need me anymore. Nobody does.”

“That’s not true!” Kindaichi interjects, hoping to drown out the sullen quality oozing from Iwaizumi. “Do you know how good it feels to know that, if I ever need to talk or vent, I can call you? It helps me so much to know I can just . . . make a decision because I’m never alone dealing with it.” Kindaichi’s fingers shake as he woodenly walks over to a tree planter and sits on its rim. “ _I_ need you.”

Iwaizumi is quiet for a long, itchy minute before he says barely louder than a whisper, “I got cut from the starting roster. Right before the Intercollegiate Tournament.”

So much begins to fall in place as Kindaichi replays their conversation in his head. The homesickness, the rock-bottom morale, the feeling of worthlessness — it all makes a terrible sense now.

Kindaichi knows he has to do something, say something quickly, but for the lack of any better ideas, he blurts, “Do you have classes this weekend?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m coming down there.”

Iwaizumi sputters through the handset. “You can’t just travel through five prefectures because I’m being a whiny piece of shit, Kindaichi. If anything, I should be coming up there to you.”

Shaking his head before realizing the absurdity of the motion, Kindaichi clucks his tongue. “Nope. You helped me, and now I’m going to help you. I have to talk to my mom, but I think she’ll cover for me. Something about a family emergency or something, I don’t know.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

Kindaichi smiles into his phone. “Just say hello tomorrow when I get off the plane. I have no idea where anything is there.”

“I’ll be there.”

They bid their goodbyes, after which Kindaichi nearly sprints home hoping to catch his mother before she spoils her good mood by watching too much evening news.

After Kindaichi gives her an abridged version of Iwaizumi’s predicament, mentioning him by name but leaving out the crying parts, his mother agrees to report his absence from school both Friday and Saturday for ‘a family crisis’, along with an allowance advance to the tune of thirty-thousand yen. It means Kindaichi will be taking bentos full of leftovers to school for lunch for the rest of the school year and then some, but he doesn’t care. Not when it comes to this.

Early Friday morning, Kindaichi takes a duffle bag full of everything his mother insists he can’t live without for the weekend and boards a plane to Nagoya, where Iwaizumi will be waiting for him. His entire body feels like illness by the time he escapes the cramped confines of the airplane, but it doesn’t keep him from speeding away from the terminal to baggage claim, where Iwaizumi said he would meet him.

He looks around the crowded bag carousels, but he can’t see Iwaizumi anywhere. It isn’t until a familiar voice gives a soft, “Hey,” behind him that Kindaichi turns around, only to be engulfed by a hug strong enough to punch the wind out of him.

When he’s finally released by Iwaizumi’s vice-like grip, Kindaichi pulls back to take in the sight of the person he’s just flown four hours to see. The signature features are there: spiky black hair, confident posture, and the good looks Kindaichi has spent the better part of five years failing not to notice. The unfamiliar aspects of Iwaizumi, however, are the smudges of weariness under his eyes, the smile that looks more like a wince, and the fact that he’s looking at Kindaichi like he’s the only person there.

Mouth dry, Kindaichi swallows his nervousness and mentally jams a smile onto his face as he croaks, “I missed you.”

A genuine grin spreads across Iwaizumi’s lips, lighting up his face in a way Kindaichi has scarcely seen yet can readily remember. “Same here. I’m glad I didn’t talk you out of this.” He throws an arm around Kindaichi’s shoulder and leads him out to the bus stop outside the terminal. “Though I feel pretty bad about how much you probably spent to get here.”

Trying not to think about that while his guts are still roiling from the plane ride, Kindaichi shakes his head. “I wanted to do it, and I’m here now. It doesn’t matter.”

Iwaizumi’s arm tightens around him. “Lunch is definitely on me.”

They take the bus and stop at a hole-in-the-wall yakiniku place, and more food is consumed in a two hour period than Kindaichi can ever recall putting into his body, despite his cranky stomach. “I think I gained a kilo of just the corn,” Kindaichi groans as he slouches on his cushion. “I feel really fat right now.”

Blushing as he wipes his mouth, Iwaizumi averts his eyes. “I picked this place because the grilled corn is good and it’s your favorite.”

Reddening even more than Iwaizumi, Kindaichi hides his face in his hand. “Why do I still act like this when I talk to you, Iwaizumi-san?” he complains, too late realizing that he has done so aloud. “That was kind of embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says softly, “I’m not really used to this either. Talking about feelings and stuff was Oikawa’s territory. I just hit stuff until it starts working again. Lucky for me, you’re too nice to punch me in the jaw and tell me to stop being a whiny asshole, so feelings and stuff it is.”

Kindaichi can’t stifle a laugh, which tastes more like his meal than he would like. “I don’t think I could ever hit you, Iwaizumi-san.”

Eyes narrowing in contemplation, Iwaizumi murmurs, “’Bout that. I’m pretty sure we crossed the line a while back when it comes to senpai-kouhai stuff. I’d like to think we’re, you know . . . friends?” When Kindaichi grins, Iwaizumi nods. “Then you can drop the formalities. Call me Iwaizumi or call me Hajime. Just don’t call me Iwa-chan or you’re going back to Sendai on a stretcher.”

About eighty percent sure Iwaizumi is joking, Kindaichi nods and hesitantly says, “O-okay, Iwaizumi.” He wants to try the taste of it on his tongue, but as the syllables of ‘Hajime’ roll out barely more than a whisper, Kindaichi can feel blood rush to his face. _Maybe later_ , he thinks as he ducks his scarlet face behind his teacup.

“Good.” Draining the last of his drink, Iwaizumi asks, “Anything in particular you want me to call you?”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Kindaichi doesn’t quite meet Iwaizumi’s gaze when he says, “Well, my mom calls me Yuu. Kunimi calls me Yuutarou when he’s trying to bum pocket change. Everyone else calls me Kindaichi.”

Iwaizumi scratches his chin in thought. “Well, I already call you Kindaichi. Yuu and Yuutarou mean totally different things etymologically.” He cracks a smile. “I think I like Yuu.”

The sound of his given name in its simplest and most intimate form on Iwaizumi’s lips made Kindaichi shiver, but he can’t write the sensation off as a particularly unpleasant one. There are a number of things Iwaizumi’s choice of what to call him could mean, but all of them indicate that Kindaichi is important to him. He isn’t sure what that means to him yet, but for the moment, he’ll take it.

They leave the restaurant shoulder to shoulder against the chilly almost-winter air, despite the weather in Nagoya being far more hospitable than in Miyagi, evidenced by the lack of snow on the ground. Iwaizumi walks them to his college campus and to the dorms where he has a futon rolled out on the floor.

More tired than the length of the day would suggest, Kindaichi drops onto it and sighs in relief. “I can’t believe how tired I am.”

“Take a nap. I have a paper I can work on, so I’ll be here the whole time.”

Kindaichi doesn’t complain about the arrangement and drifts off quickly, not waking until the setting sun is barely a sliver in the window. Yawning, he sits and stretches his arms. “What time is it?”

At his desk, Iwaizumi raises his head, which had been resting on his forearms. He looks around groggily, his watch imprinted on his face and his hair askew as he grumbles, “Whazzat?”

“So much for your paper,” Kindaichi marks as he hauls himself to wobbling feet. “Now we’re both going to be up all night.”

“As long as the company’s good.” Iwaizumi shoots him a hint of a smile, and Kindaichi has to reel back to sit on the edge of the bed behind him. “You hungry yet?”

Shuddering at the thought of more food, Kindaichi shakes his head. “I’d die.”

“Same.” Iwaizumi slaps his book closed and moves to sit next to Kindaichi, their shoulders touching as the bed sinks down to take his weight. “I’m really happy to see you.”

Iwaizumi is close — so very close — and Kindaichi can feel their breath mingling as he stares into honest brown eyes. If Iwaizumi says he’s happy to see him, Kindaichi has no doubt that he means it. Of all the people he could’ve called, Kindaichi is the one he had chosen. The one he is truly happy to see.

Heart pounding like he had just run a dozen laps, Kindaichi licks his lips as his eyelids flutter shut. He can feel the slight graze of slightly chapped lips against his, barely there but all he can think about long after the sort-of-kiss ends and he opens his eyes.

“I just thought you should know,” Iwaizumi says as he drops back on the bed, arms spread-eagle. He sighs and slaps an arm over his face. “That was too weird, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have done that.”

Kindaichi opens his mouth to say something — anything, really. That it had been his first kiss, and that he doesn’t mind giving that particular first to someone who cares about him as much as Kindaichi does in return. That it is weird but that might not be a bad thing. That he wouldn’t have turned away even if he had known what was coming.

He says none of these as he leans down for a fuller, longer kiss. It’s an awkward thing of bumped noses and chins and lips not quite flush, but the bubble of excitement in his entire skin makes it feel nothing short of good and right. He’s kissing Iwaizumi Hajime, and Iwaizumi is kissing him back and tangling his fingers with Kindaichi’s as he does.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and heady, Kindaichi drops on the bed next to Iwaizumi with a lopsided smile on his face. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Iwaizumi chuckles merrily. “Neither can I, but I’m not gonna complain. I’m just happy you didn’t punch me or something. It wasn’t the smartest way to tell you I like you. It was a tossup between that and telling you that I saved every voicemail you left me and I listen to them every day.” He lets out a heavy huff of breath and sits up. “But I can’t let it happen again. You’re still in high school and it’s just . . . I’m messed up right now. You should try to find someone your own age who isn’t a bag of cats in the head.”

As much as he wants to refute Iwaizumi’s claims, Kindaichi knows at least part of that sentiment is true. If it were somebody else in this situation, he would find it inappropriate for a nineteen-year-old college man to make a move on a seventeen-year-old high school second year. He’s glad it happened and that he knows Iwaizumi’s true feelings, but the distance and vastly different lives they will be leading for the next few years are too much of an obstacle to overlook.

“I can wait.” He gives a sad smile as he cuts off Iwaizumi’s dissent before it has a chance to surface and murmurs, “Hajime.”

Iwaizumi falls quiet as their gazes lock, and he pecks the pads of Kindaichi’s fingers. With a ghost of a nod, the matter is done and Kindaichi has something amazing to look forward to for his eighteenth birthday indeed.

The rest of their weekend passes by as if the kiss had never happened, and Kindaichi doesn’t mind that, either. Iwaizumi shows him around the campus and invites him to volleyball practice. It no longer surprises Kindaichi that Iwaizumi struggles to make the starting roster; at least four of the team’s spikers are as good or better than Ushijima from Shiratorizawa.

Everything else is school and volleyball and old friends, and they’re both reluctant to part when Iwaizumi accompanies Kindaichi to the airport to end their little weekend. Kindaichi almost wishes he had taken the train instead so Iwaizumi could wait with him until he had to leave, but he can’t deny that the trek through security and the long, coffee-fueled wait in the terminal helps readjust him to the reality of going back to normal life. Back to where nobody knows that Kindaichi Yuutarou has been kissed and wanted and admired.

Kindaichi is surprised to find how different it actually feels once he resumes his regular routine. He smiles more readily for struggling teammates, enjoys telling Kunimi to pay for his own damn iced coffee, and realizes that the thrill of being desired isn’t unlike the burn of a great kill on the court and that he’ll hit as many as it takes to hold onto it.

He isn’t surprised when the coaches and Yahaba sit down with him in the advisor’s office after practice and offer him the captaincy once the third years retire after the Spring Tournament. The weight of the role doesn’t bog him down or make him hesitate before he accepts, and the first person he tells is the guy he texts every night about anything and everything.

_You were right, and I took the job._

_Knew you would_ , Iwaizumi answers, inserting a thumbs up emoji that makes Kindaichi roll his eyes. _Proud of you, Yuu._

Kindaichi blushes at his phone but doesn’t stop smiling all the way back to the club room.

Beside him on the bench, Kunimi quirks a brow. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yep.” Kindaichi doesn’t elaborate, but he does offer a cryptic, “You’ll see.”

Kunimi shrugs and says, “Whatever. Just don’t forget to tell Iwaizumi-san.”

Jerking his head to gape at Kunimi in shock, Kindaichi demands, “How did you —”

He’s cut off by Kunimi waving his phone in front of Kindaichi’s face, with an open string of texts with Oikawa, who is consoling Kunimi on not being named captain but encouraging him to Kindaichi’s right-hand man like ‘Iwa-chan’ was.

Guffawing at the name he knows Iwaizumi hates so much, Kindaichi bumps his shoulder against Kunimi’s. “I didn’t know you wanted it.”

Kunimi rolls his eyes. “Not in a million years. You’re the responsible one, not me. I’m just looking forward to leaving early instead of doing cleanup.”

“Figures.” There is no malice in Kindaichi’s tone as he mulls over his upcoming role as ace and captain. It will be a lot and it will be hard, but he doesn’t doubt for a moment that it will be worth every minute.

 

_Omake_

High fives abound as Aobajousai makes their way back to their assigned changing room after their rousing Interhigh victory, which will send them to the prefectural finals to face Karasuno in a push to make Nationals for the first time in a decade. Even Kunimi is cheering with his fellow teammates.

However, a laugh dies on Kindaichi’s lips as he turns to see an achingly familiar face standing in the runway, holding up a phone.

“ _You have 105 saved messages_ ,” says the flat female voice that governs most mobile carrier inboxes, and Kindaichi listens in astonishment when he hears his own voice through the speakerphone, rambling something about math and Kunimi stealing his onigiri at lunch.

“Hajime,” Kindaichi gasps before taking off in a run toward the person he had wished to see the most on this day, his eighteenth birthday and the peak of his captaincy.

His teammates gawk as he throws his arms around Iwaizumi and snare his lips for a long, hungry kiss. The murmurs of shock soon turn to wolf whistles, but Kindaichi doesn’t care who knows or sees that he has everything he’s ever wanted and the day isn’t even over yet.

Panting, Iwaizumi playfully elbows Kindaichi and teases, “Stop getting taller, damn it. If you keep growing, I’ll need a step stool to kiss you.”

Kindaichi grins and leans over to kiss Iwaizumi’s temple, slipping his hand into Iwaizumi’s and lacing their fingers together. “Don’t wanna.”

Mischief glints in Iwaizumi’s eyes as he tugs Kindaichi into an empty stairwell, smirking as the door closes behind them. “Happy birthday. Oh, and I’ll make you pay for that, Kindaichi Yuutarou.”

High on his win and the kiss he has waited over six months for, Kindaichi tugs Iwaizumi flush against his chest and murmurs against his lips, “Bring it on.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. There is far too little of these two together, and I hope it fills some gaps in terms of content.


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